Even Broken Wings Have Perks
by PretzelStyle
Summary: Cas is a college freshman who doesn't fit in. Dean is a senior who stands out. Sam just stands in the middle and causes angst. All three of them have secrets that will all unwillingly be uncovered. Some are lighthearted and harmless, some are just plain dark. Destiel, multi-chapter. Very loosely based on The Perks of Being a Wallflower by Steven Chbosky.


**Author's Note**

**Hello friends! Happy Kwanzaa, Happy Boxing Day, Happy belated Hanukkah, Merry belated Christmas, and anything else I may have missed! Here is my gift to all of you: a Destiel AU! **

**Disclaimer: Supernatural and Perks of Being a Wallflower are not mine. V sad.**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

><p>August 18<p>

I don't understand why I have to do this. Mr. Shurley says it will help me organize my thoughts, but my thoughts don't need organizing. They need rationalizing. They need to learn how to make sense, and present themselves at appropriate times.

For instance, I'm starting my freshman year of college in two days, but all I can think about is my laundry. Who worries about dirty clothes two days before embarking on a "four year journey through self discovery and revelation", as Mr. Shurley, my therapist, calls it? He's asked me time and time again to just call him Chuck, but I met him at a young age when all adults were misters and misses, and I'm not about to start calling him something completely foreign to me after all these years. Maybe when he starts calling me Cas rather than Castiel, I'll think about calling him Chuck.

I've always thought my name was weird. My brother's name is Gabriel, my sister's is Anna, and my other brother, who I don't really talk about, is Michael. And I'm Castiel. How weird. I suppose it's because of my parents' obsession with the bible. I can't be sure, though. They haven't spoken to me in almost five years.

This is exactly what I mean. My thoughts are all over the place. I'm supposed to be writing an introduction for this dumb therapy journal, but instead I'm writing about my parents and their Jesus fetish.

Whatever. I need to get my books together and do my laundry. Until next time, dumb journal.

-Cas.

* * *

><p>August 20<p>

So my first day wasn't a total bust.

My Literature Studies instructor, Professor Singer, seems like a pretty nice guy, and there's a nice, lengthy syllabus for that class. Reading is a passion of mine. I've always been called out on it for being a nerd or a bookworm, but I've learned to ignore it. People need a source of entertainment, and I don't mind if that just happens to be me.

The only drawback to that class is this one guy, this one complete asshole, who sat in front of me today. Poor Professor Singer didn't stand a chance against this guy. As he wrote our first assignment on the board, the boy started disassembling his pen to make a spitball straw. The girl sitting next to him told him to knock it off, but he just started flirting with her. He nearly had his arm draped over her shoulders when Professor Singer turned around and told him to shut up, to which he retaliated with a spitball to the chalkboard, a perfect bullseye in the middle of an O.

"Don't test me, boy. Your dad and I go way back." I wondered what he meant by that.

Professor Singer's weird threat seemed to instantly put him in his place. He retracted himself from the poor girl, reassembled his pen, and began taking notes. Or maybe doodling. I couldn't see over his broad, leather-clad shoulders.

I've never really liked leather jackets. I don't like the thought of torturing an animal its entire life only to unceremoniously slaughter it for its resources. I'm not a vegan or a vegetarian, but I've often thought about nixing meat. I've never acted upon this thought, though.

Back on topic. I met my roommate today. He's actually pretty cool. His name is Sam. Sam Winchester. I like the way it flows. It kind of sounds like Sandwich Esther.

Anyway, when I opened our door for the first time, he was hanging up a Bon Jovi poster. He looked already pretty settled in. His bed, on the right side of the small, square room, had a plaid comforter and matching pillows lazily thrown onto it. His desk was amazingly already cluttered, though not unorganized, with his laptop, assorted pens, a few picture frames, and a stack of textbooks.

I was still inspecting his half of the room when he noticed me. "Hey, you my roommate?"

"Uh, yeah. Hi." I held out my hand, and he gripped it with both of his and shook.

"Hi, I'm Sam. Sam Winchester."

"Cas-Castiel Collins." There's my dumb stutter.

"Castiel? That's a pretty cool-ass name!"

"Really? Um, thanks. Yours is pretty cool, too." I had no idea what to say and kind of felt like an idiot. But Sam still spared me a gracious smile.

"Thanks, man. I'm named after my grandfather." He grabbed another poster out of a box on the floor. He rolled it out and, almost immediately, his cheeks flushed red. With the way the sunlight was shining throughout the room, I could see through the back of the page. It was a long centerfold magazine page with a very busty, nearly naked Asian girl posing erotically with only a paper fan covering her, well, everything.

"That's my brother's. I swear."

I laughed. "I understand. I've got a brother who reads Busty Asian Beauties, too."

Sam, still red-faced, rolled the page back up and tossed it into a pile of clothes, papers, and various knick-knacks. "A lot of our stuff got mixed up while we were packing. I think he's got a few of my shirts." He continued to rummage through the box he pulled the poster from. Without looking up, he asked, "So what's your brother's name?"

I was almost shocked at the question, thinking for a split second that he was asking me about Michael. Once I realized that he was asking about the brother I just mentioned, and the fact that nobody here knew about Michael, I relaxed. "Gabriel. His name's Gabriel."

"Wow, your family's full of cool names. Got any other siblings?"

"M-my sister, Anna."

"Hm, pretty. My brother's name is Dean."

"That's a pretty cool name," I said as I finally placed my suitcase on my designated bed. I opened it up and began sorting which clothes I wanted hanging in the closet and which ones folded in the dresser.

Sam stopped fishing through the box and smiled. "Yeah, he's a pretty cool dude. I've always looked up to him. I'll ask him to come over some time. He's only two floors down."

"That'd be nice. Gabe's already graduated from college and Anna's a junior in high school."

Sam didn't really seem interested in what I was saying. I didn't mind. He was concentrating on getting to the bottom of the box, looking for some object that seemed either just out of reach or miles below the surface. He let out a low "Aha!" when he finally grasped whatever it was. He pulled out a silver ring that looked like it had two horns sticking out of it. He slipped it on his right ring finger so that the horns faced upwards.

"What's that?"

"A gift from my boyfriend, Luc."

"Oh, cool."

So, Sam bats for my team. I totally wouldn't have guessed it. He seems like the type of guy to have one of those leggy blonde girls wrapped around his waist at all times. Not like the other type of guy. Not like me. Although, I don't know anything fr sure yet, and I don't want to make any uncomfortable assumptions.

I pulled my trench coat out of my suitcase and hung it up in my half of the wide closet.

So I guess this year could be fun.

* * *

><p>September 3<p>

So I found out something interesting.

That awful guy in my Lit class is named Dean. Dean Winchester. As in Sam's brother Dean.

How the hell can a nice, down-to-earth guy and a complete asshole be brothers? It's not even just that. Sam talks about Dean with such noble fondness, as if talking about Gandhi or the goddamn Queen of England. Sam actually looks up to the guy who has been making futile attempts on the same girl since the first day in Lit. I feel so bad for her.

Maybe I should feel bad for Sam, though. He had to grow up with the guy.

Or maybe I should feel bad for Dean. Every family's got a black sheep, like me in my family. Hell, I could've turned out just like him.

I guess I'll just have to get to know him.

* * *

><p>September 8<p>

So I've been getting to know Dean, but not exactly voluntarily.

I don't really know how I would've started a conversation with him. "Hi, I want to get to know you," or maybe, "Hi, I don't like the way you treat the girl next to you, so I want to meet you to rationalize your behavior." A perfectly acceptable greeting could've been "Hi, I'm your brother's roommate, nice to meet you," but he started a conversation with me before I could actually get to that thought.

He turned around in his seat and knocked on my desk. "Yo, Baby Blues, you got a pen I could borrow?"

"Excuse me?"

"Pen, y'know, you write things on paper with it, it's the permanent kind, the one without the pink rubbery thing on the end?"

"No, I, I know what a pen is."

"Heh, 'pen is'."

"No, shut up. Just, what did you call me?"

"Baby Blues. Like your eyes."

"We've never met before, and you're already giving me a petname?"

"Look, ya got a pen, or not?"

"Yeah, hang on." I grabbed a blue Bic from my canvas bag on the floor. He snatched it out of my hand before I was even fully upright in my seat. He began scribbling something onto a piece of paper. I leaned over his leather shoulder and just caught a glimpse of a phone number before he passed it to the girl he's been harassing for the past week. I nearly scoffed at his arrogance and told him he was a piece of shit right then and there. But I didn't want to interrupt Professor Singer's lesson.

I'm still wondering how on earth he and Sam are related.

* * *

><p>September 12<p>

I met someone today. She may be the first girl I've ever liked as more than a friend, and this is a big deal to me.

Her name is Meg. Meg Masters. She has beautiful brown hair, and a certain alluring quality to her voice. It's an extremely unique voice that's really quite pretty.

She's in my Calculus class. Her calculator's batteries died, and I let her borrow my spare calculator. She thanked me and asked me my name, which she said she liked. Since we both had a break after Calc, we ate lunch together. We talked and talked about the most minute things that anyone else would find pointless and uninteresting. I found out that she's a fan of Green Day, which is a trait we have in common. She's also allergic to shellfish, used to tap dance as a kid, and is thinking about joining the school's all-girls choir. I told her she should go for it. As I said before, she's got a very beautiful voice. I bet she'd be good at singing Norah Jones.

It's all very exciting to me. I'm not sure if I'm actually into her yet, but maybe I can make this work between us. Maybe, I can fix things with my family, because of her.

Maybe, I can finally go home.

* * *

><p>September 16<p>

I want to reflect on something a little random today.

As I mentioned in my last entry, I'm a big fan of Green Day. Today is a day of memoriam for Green Day fans. It's a sad day for frontman Billie Joe Armstrong. It's the anniversary of his father's death.

Andy Armstrong meant a lot to Billie. He inspired his interest in music, even taught him how to play the guitar. Andy was basically responsible for Billie's career.

But he was never given the opportunity to see just how great, just how inspirational his youngest son had become. He died when Billie was only ten.

The song "Wake Me Up When September Ends" is about Andy. One of their biggest hits, and possibly their most beautiful song, was written about the man who started it all, but never got to see the awesome outcome.

Andy was a great father. He supported his kid, and helped Billie make himself into something great, even after he couldn't physically be there to do it anymore.

I've never felt this.

My father hasn't spoken to me in five years. I tried to tell him who I really was, and he rejected me. Michael, unarguably his favorite son, tried to help me. He fought and fought for me, for years. In the end, it didn't matter anymore. Michael was dead and my father still hated me.

While most fans listen to the song on repeat today out of respect, I also listen for another reason.

I crave to know what it's like to have a loving father.

* * *

><p>September 19<p>

I don't know why I'm so mad about Dean and Lisa.

Lisa's the girl he's been hitting on in Lit for the whole month. It seems he somehow got through to her. I'm having a hard time paying attention to the notes on Macbeth with them invading each other's personal space and talking about pointless shit. Professor Singer seemed to notice my irritation today.

"Dean and Lisa. Eyes front. What the hell does this look like to you two, kindergarten? I can't believe I have to say 'don't make me separate you two'. Childish idjits."

I've never been more thankful for the slaying of a word in my life.

She deserves better than him. She's a pretty girl who's giving up too early. She belongs with some jock with a football scholarship. Dean needs to find himself a nice outcast so they can keep to themselves and not bother anybody else.

Okay, that sounded a little rude. I couldn't put a poor outcast next to that demon.

No, I take it all back. I don't hate Dean that much. Just a little.

But I still don't know why seeing him and Lisa get all flirty with each other makes my stomach turn.

* * *

><p>September 20<p>

Meg and I threw a two person party today.

To celebrate the anniversary of the Green Day's American Idiot, Meg broke out her turntable and vinyl record collection.

"I've been collecting all of the music from when I was a kid on vinyl. I've almost got all of Green Day's albums, I'm just missing 39 Smooth and Shenanigans."

"Wow, this is an amazing stash you have here. You found these all yourself?"

"Well, some of them are my dad's. The ones in the back of the box are his."

"Holy shit, you have Blind Melon? We need to listen to this!"

"Another day, Cas. Today is an important day in history." She slipped the American Idiot vinyl out of its jacket and gently placed it on the turntable. After she carefully lined up the needle on the outer edge, a few seconds went by before the familiar chords began reverberating throughout the small room. We both sang at the tops of our lungs and did our best impression of a two person mosh pit.

"Don't wanna be an American Idiot! Dununuh nununuh nununeow neow neow, don't want a nation under the new media! Dununuh nununuh nununeow neow neow!"

Hours of singing, dancing, screaming, and laughing went by. She had flipped and reflipped the album four times, and when the final track, Whatsername, came on for the final time, we were laying on the floor upside down to each other, with our feet towards opposite sides of the room, and our heads lined up side by side.

She turned to me-she even looked beautiful upside down-and said, "I like you, Cas."

"I like you too, Meg."

_Now I wonder how Whatsername has been_

"I don't want this to be us, Castiel. I don't ever want to be a Whatsername to you."

"Meg, you won't be. You're too special for that."

She smiled and looked into my eyes with her deep brown ones. We could've kissed. We should've kissed. But we didn't. We just stared at each other until the song ended.

* * *

><p>September 29<p>

I met Sam's boyfriend today. I'm not sure if I like him or not.

Sam and I were quizzing each other for an upcoming exam, when Luc silently entered the room. So silently, in fact, that I didn't notice him until he was halfway across the way to Sam, when he said, "There's my darling devil!"

While I was getting over the minor heart attack this surprise voice had caused, Sam was practically squealing with joy. He thrust his textbook ungraciously aside and threw his arms up to meet Luc in a hug. They lingered in a kiss while I placed my book down on my bed and stood up a few feet away from them.

Sam broke the kiss, but added one tiny peck, and said, "What are you doing here, it's 2:30! You should be in Criminology!"

"I was running late anyway, and your building was on the way, so I figured, why not just stop by for a minute?" Luc's voice dripped with some sort of loathsome sleaziness, which seemed to be completely invisible to Sam.

"Babe, this is my roommate, Castiel. Cas, Luc." I shook Luc's cold hand and gave him a brief smile. He returned it with a dark, almost sinister nod. I couldn't tell if it was just my imagination or if he was trying to creep me out. Either way, I withdrew my hand.

"N-nice to meet you, Luc."

"And you, Castiel." I didn't like the way his teeth produced a hiss at the S in my name. It made me shiver. "Well, I better be off. Nice seeing you, babe. Have a nice day, Castiel." He sauntered out the door.

"Isn't he cute?"

"Y-yeah, totally, you guys look great together."

Sam giggled and practically skipped over to his nightstand, which he's currently using as a kitchen cabinet. He pulled out a loaf of bread, a jar of peanut butter, and a bunch of bananas. "You want a peanut butter and banana sandwich?"

"No thanks, I'm good."

Sam's odd sandwich preferences aren't the only things troubling me today.


End file.
